


Take a Break

by monohearts



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), F/M, Face-Fucking, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Shameless Smut, Slapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 21:56:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12118029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monohearts/pseuds/monohearts
Summary: Rick is working, but you'd rather he pay attention to you. He obliges, sort of.





	Take a Break

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written smut in a Very long time, but after a few glasses of wine last night I decided to flex those old muscles just a little bit. I'm a sucker for Mean Science Grandpa. Please forgive me; I was absolutely drunk.

“D-don’t you have anything better to be doing?”

Rick’s voice cracks through the silence like a whip, sending an electric current from your head to your heels. He doesn’t bother looking up from the mechanical parts on his bench, and carries on tinkering while you reign yourself in. You’ve been standing in the garage doorway for a few minutes at least, waiting to see how long it would take him to care. It seems ridiculous to you to be intimidated, but there’s no helping that.

“Not at the moment, no.” You lean against the door frame with your arms crossed, making a conscious effort to seem nonchalant and bored. Rick snorts and swivels his chair away from you in response, dismissive. You wait a beat before straightening up and striding slowly towards him. Standing directly behind him, you put a hand on the back of his chair and lean over his shoulder to see. Everything looks like scrap to you, but Rick’s fingers are moving deftly from part to part, dark with grease. His face is drawn in concentration; brows pinched in, bottom lip caught between teeth. His eyes are dark and jump to keep pace with his hands.

“If you want to – if you’re going to just hover over me, make – make yourself useful,” he finally snaps. A beat of silence follows. You raise your eyebrows, waiting for him to remember that you woefully can’t read his mind. “Vise,” he finally mutters. “Small one. I – I don’t have all day.”

“You could take a break for a little while,” you suggest, aiming for teasing but feeling needy instead. Still, you glance up to look for the tool. You ghost your fingers over the back of his neck when you move away to grab it from a shelf on the wall—and find one of his calloused hands striking out like a snake to constrict around your wrist. A shiver traces the length of your spine.

Rick gives your arm a tug to pull you back towards him, and you catch yourself with your free hand on the back of his chair. His brow is raised, his mouth is quirked in something between a sneer and a smirk, and there is a familiar sort of… mania in his eyes that quickens your pulse. He squeezes your wrist like he means to break it.

“If you’re so jealous, you – all you had to do was say something.” He laughs, a low rumble that shakes from his chest and straight through you. He plucks your hand from where it balances your weight against his chair and pulls you, flushed and startled, into his lap. The position is awkward and uncomfortable; it forces you to twist around and lean back just to look at him.

“Who said anything about jealous?” you ask, smiling as coyly as you can manage. “I’m just concerned you work too hard. For purely unselfish reasons.” Rick’s eyes flash and burn through you. You feel his fingers flutter along the side of your thigh, trailing heat and smudges of grease wherever they touch.

“I bet you are,” he murmurs. He shifts your weight around so you’re sitting facing forward on him, his chest flush against your back. You shudder as he presses his mouth against the back of your neck, grazing his teeth on sensitive skin. He rubs his hands on your bare thighs, wiping their filth off on you—a protest bubbles in your throat and then dissipates when he bites down. His hands, only moderately cleaner for his dickishness, slide up your body and under your shirt to grope you.

“You could – you could be doing anything right now,” he says, pausing intermittently to mouth your neck, “but you came all the way here because you want this old man to pay attention to you. Is that it?” His breath feels like fire on your skin, and you bite down on your tongue to keep quiet as he palms your breasts. Your answer doesn’t come fast enough, which he makes clear with a hard nip at the junction of your neck and shoulder. “Is that it?”

Yelping, you nod. You grip your own legs for lack of anything else to do with your hands, digging your nails into your thighs just above the knee.

Another bite follows, harder than the first. “Use – use your words.”

“Yes,” you hiss, trying to pull away from his ministrations only to be pinned back against him by his hands at your breasts.

Rick’s hands slide around to your back, unclasping your bra. He can’t slide it off without first removing your shirt, but it allows him to give your nipples a rough twist anyway. “Yes, what?”

You set your jaw, arching your back. Your head rests against his shoulder and you whine, sounding pitiful even to yourself. “Yes, sir.”

His mouth blooms into a smile against your skin, and he tilts his hips up just enough to make you sure you’re aware of the erection you happen to be sitting on top of. “Good girl,” Rick breathes, gently rolling your nipples between thumb and forefinger.

You sit with your head tilted back and to the side, giving him access to your neck and the exposed part of your shoulder. The little whimpers and whines you make while he manhandles you are more for his benefit than yours, or at least that’s what you tell yourself in the moment. There isn’t any denying the heat accumulating low in your abdomen, though, or the way your heart skips when his chuckles and murmurs rumble against your back.

“Get up.” You don’t hesitate to comply—Rick’s better humors aren’t always consistent and can change for no reason at all, but you aren’t in the mood to take chances today. You bolt to your feet, praying that he hasn’t changed his mind, and turn around to find him standing up. “Lose the shirt. On your knees.” It isn’t a request.

As your knees hit the concrete, you watch him unbuckle his belt and slide it free. Once your shirt and bra are discarded, you sit back on your heels, hands at your knees, looking up at him the way he likes. He holds your gaze as the belt rattles to the floor beside you. You’re tempted to break eye contact and look down to where his fingers are tugging at the button of his pants, but you stay as you are. His smile flashes teeth as he frees his cock, palming the shaft while you sit waiting.

When Rick steps forward and his hand finds purchase in your hair, you’re ready. He fists it into a ponytail behind your head while your mouth parts open, his free hand at the base of his shaft as it slides in against your waiting tongue. The warmth in your belly creeps lower, hotter, as Rick takes his hand from cock and rests it on the side of your face. A thumb traces your cheekbone, then his grip gets tighter, and be begins to thrust.

The first few are quick and shallow, coating himself in your saliva. A low groan shakes through him when he forces himself in as far as you can take him, pushing in to the back of your throat. He holds you there until your hands find purchase on his thighs and you fight the urge to gag—then he pulls back out to the head, and pulls you back again. He picks up speed and force each time, fucking your mouth until you’re gagging on him. Saliva drips out of your lips and down your chin, and you dig your nails into him to keep your hands where they belong. The furnace between your legs begs for attention, but Rick hates it when you touch yourself without permission.

You cough and choke and moan as he fills your mouth in quick, hard thrusts, grunting and muttering filth as he goes. His hand pulls back and then collides full-force again with the side of your face; you whimper and he moans long and low, twisting his grip tighter in your hair.

“You like that – you like it when I slap you around, huh?” Rick’s voice is thick and hoarse, and his head is lolling back. You make the closest thing to an affirmative noise you can manage with his cock fully in your mouth, head pushing against the back of your throat, and Rick slaps you again. “Fuuuuck,” he hisses, dragging your head forwards hard on his cock. He yanks you back by the hair and lands another blow; you feel him twitch in your mouth and whine.

“That’s good – you’re doing g-good. Shit—” Rick has both hands in your hair now, and his thrusting is more urgent, more erratic. You circle your tongue around the head of his cock when you can, massaging his thighs where you had been practically clawing at him, whimpering the way he likes. By the time he yanks your head back, replacing his cock with his thumb in your mouth, you’re panting and thoroughly concerned about the state of your dismally untouched underwear.

“Don’t swallow,” Rick growls, pressing his thumb down on your tongue. You nod for him, eyes wide, and he slips back into your mouth. This time he lets you take control; you take hold of the base of his shaft, stroking with one hand while your mouth bobs up and down. You swirl your tongue around his tip, lapping up precum and moaning wantonly until his grunts diminish into labored breathing and he tenses.

“That’s it, that’s a good girl—” His hands find your hair again, but he isn’t as rough now. Rick holds your head in place while he climaxes, pumping slowly, grunting. You keep your eyes trained up at his face, studying the way his brow pinches in and the hard set of his mouth. You hold his cum there on your tongue as he milks himself into you, just the way he wants. When he finishes, Rick pulls out and drops to one knee in front of you. From here you can see the severity of his eyes, like beacons of pale fire. 

He taps underneath your chin. “Show – lemme see.”

You comply without hesitation, opening your mouth so he can see the mess he made there on your tongue. Rick stares at it—the way he looks at his devices, something focused and intent—but then he nods and you push your tongue forward, letting his cum spill down your chin. He watches it drip onto the swell of your breasts. For a long minute neither of you move, until Rick wipes your chin with his thumb—and you suck it clean before he can tell you to.

The smirk creeps back onto his face, and Rick kisses you—open-mouthed, all sharp teeth, like kissing a piranha. When he pulls away he drags your lower lip with him and you whine again. Laughter like shattered glass fills the garage.

“There. I took – I took a break. Now get lost—I’m fucking busy.”


End file.
